


Worth Fighting for

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward First Times, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:27:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: Yuri's always been the type to move fast. Otabek isn't sure he's ready to move at all.





	1. Worlds, Lake Placid

**Author's Note:**

> From a kinkmeme prompt: "I want something about Otabek wanting to wait to have sex with Yuri ... and Yuri learning to rein in his impulsive "do the thing RIGHT NOW" nature to make Otabek feel comfortable." This is a cleaned up version of the original fill. (Thank you again, prompter, whoever you are.)
> 
> Yuri is 17 for most of this story. If you would like more detail on the issues addressed in the main plot, spoilers are in the endnotes.

The gala hadn't been bad. They'd dragged him out on the dance floor, and he'd had a chance to talk to Leo for a little while. Yuri had picked a few fights, but nothing too catastrophic, before he dragged Otabek out of the party and back to his room ( _we have to stay in yours, I'm sharing with fucking Georgi_ ). 

They'd been too tired to do anything but collapse together in bed, but Otabek remembered, vaguely, Yuri throwing his arm around Otabek's waist. 

It was there now, as he blinked awake, feeling Yuri's warmth at his back, Yuri's hand on his hip, just resting. Waiting.

It wasn't a bad way to wake up at all.

"Hey," Yuri said, softly, and kissed the back of Otabek's neck.

Otabek tipped his head back. "Morning," he said, and closed his eyes as Yuri kissed him again. Yuri's free hand ghosted up against his ribs, back to his hip. Slid to the waistband of his shorts, tucking a few fingers underneath, against Otabek's abdomen. 

_Shit._ Yuri was going to feel him freezing up. "Wait," he said.

"You feel good," Yuri said, and Otabek caught the _want_ in his voice. “I just--”

He bit his lower lip. "Yura," he said, trying to sound reassuring. Trying not to sound like an asshole. “It’s not that--”

"I know," Yuri said, sullen. His hand stilled. "I'm seventeen. You don't have to--"

"It's not that," he said.

"Then what the hell is it? If I'm--"

"It's not you," he said, grateful that Yuri was behind him, his chest at Otabek's back, grateful to have his touch but not to have to meet his eyes. "It's never--it's not _you.”_

It hurt to know he was the one who'd put uncertainty in Yuri's voice. "I thought--I thought you liked..."

"I like you," he said, and put his fingers over Yuri's. "I...it's nice. Kissing you. I like this. I'm just...I'm not ready for more right now, okay? I know I'm older. I know it's--I know it's not fair to you." He closed his eyes. "Look, if you want to bail--"

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

He almost wanted to laugh. "Because you're seventeen and I'm fucked up?"

"Are you--" Yuri's hand moved away, found his shoulders, _spun_ him, rough, intese. "Are you fucking kidding me?" His eyes were on fire. "No. I'm not fucking--no."

"I'm sorry," Otabek said.

"You--just _tell_ me. Okay? I didn't know--I don't know things unless you tell me. Did you think--did you really think I was going to bail?"

Otabek closed his eyes again. "No--yes--I don't know. I just--I don't know."

Yuri stroked the side of Otabek’s face. "Shit," he said. "Don't--I'm not. I'm not doing that."

“You don't have to--" Otabek said.

"Don't be fucking stupid," Yuri said. "We don't have to do anything."

"We have to eat breakfast," he said.

Yuri laughed, nervous, rough. "Okay. Breakfast." He leaned in and pressed his forehead to Otabek’s. “We'll eat. We don't have to talk about this shit or anything, okay? I just...I like you. I'm not going to stop liking you." He slid back from Otabek and sat up. 

"All right," he said, gratitude putting a thick lump in his throat. "Yura. I--thank you."

Yuri shoved his shoulder. "Don't get sappy on me, shit."


	2. In Transit

They didn't really have time to talk in the morning anyway--if they had fooled around it would've been quick and dirty, and apparently that wasn’t what Otabek wanted--which just meant Yuri had time to spin in mental circles on the plane to Helsinki. Otabek liked him. He’d said so. He’d just--

Frozen up. Stopped him. Rejected him.

He was halfway through his bowl of soup at Two Tigers, trying to ignore the little kids play-fighting and sometimes running into his calf, when his phone buzzed with a message from Otabek.

_You should know this I guess._

The link was to an English-language newspaper: Colorado Springs, Yuri realized. He read the headline twice before hitting the translate button and confirming what it said in Russian.

"Sir?" the attendant said. "Are you done with--" He gestured at Yuri's half-eaten bowl of soup.

"No," he said, too sharply, and realized how much time had passed. "Um. Pack it up for me?"

 _You should know this I guess._ No one sent an article about a serial sexual abuser in the ISU for no reason. But they might send it if--

He took his soup and got on the plane for St. Petersburg. Victor said something to him, but he didn't hear it. "Oi," he said to Katusdon. "I'm sick of Yakov, sit next to me." 

The pig wasn't stupid--he knew something was up--but he also knew enough to keep his mouth shut, which was all Yuri wanted. Someone who'd be quiet and not look over his shoulder.

He read and re-read the article, like he was picking at a scab or trying to loosen a tooth. Like reading it again would make sense of it. He searched and found a few more articles. It had been a big scandal. The man had been in Russia and Canada, too, but never near Yuri. 

Yuri wasn't naive. He knew stuff had happened. Had probably happened to people he knew. But it was different when you had something certain. Had the face of the man who'd hurt--

That was what finally got him to close the article. He didn't need to look at the man's face. Or ever hear his name again. He was in jail. That was what mattered.

He looked at his seatmate. "Pig. You awake?"

"For now," Yuuri said, without turning.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," Yuuri said, turning to face Yuri and tipping his glasses back onto his face from where they'd been resting above his forehead. "Something wrong?"

"There was a guy in Detroit," Yuri said. "Not just in Detroit. Physical therapist who--"

Katsudon's face froze for a second, before smoothing over again. "Oh," he said. "McManus."

"Did you--"

He shook his head. "We...you know how it is. Someone told Phichit-kun, and he tried to tell someone, and no one who could make a difference listened." He looked down at his hands. "When I left Hatsetsu to train, Minako-sensei told me about--there are people like that in dance too. She talked to me about what to do if someone--if something like that happened. That I could go to her, that she'd believe me. But she didn't tell me what to do when I knew it had happened to someone, when it’d happened to someone I cared about, and there wasn't anything I could do. About feeling helpless. I mean, I know I was lucky. But--" He swallowed. "You want some way to stop it or help it, and you can't. Or you find out it happened before you were even there and there was nothing you could have done."

"Yeah," Yuri said. Otabek wasn't the only skater Yuri knew who'd trained at the rinks the guy had been at, but Yuuri would probably suspect. Of course, he might already suspect. He might already know.

Maybe everyone had known but Yuri.

Well, fuck. So what if they did? Yuri was the one who was going to...

What was he going to do?

He checked his phone when the plane landed. No more from Otabek. He wasn't sure if it'd be better to pretend like nothing ever happened or not. Emailing _Thank you_ seemed wrong. _You didn't have to tell me that_ sounded more like _you shouldn't have told me that,_ and that wasn't what Yuri meant. 

He settled for _U OK?_

 _OK,_ Otabek said. _Coach sent me some music for next season. Thinking._

_Let me know if you want me to listen to anything._

_I'd like that._

_I'll be around in an hour? Skype?_

_Thanks._

Otabek looked good on Skype, if a little jet-lagged. They traded music for a while--Lilia had a long list, and so did Otabek--and compared flights home.

It was always easy to talk to Otabek, even when he had no idea what to say. They focused on music and talked about programs, and it felt normal again after a couple of minutes. But he didn’t want to ignore what Otabek had sent him, and he felt it there, unspoken, underneath everything.

"Look," he finally said, when Otabek was about to sign off. "I--thanks. I don't know what to say. But thanks for trusting me."

"You don't have to thank me," he said. "I probably should've told you--"

"You didn't have to tell me ever," Yuri said.

"You're important to me."

"Oh," Yuri said. "I--you are to me, too. That's why I don't. I don't care if we wait or what you want to do or don’t want to do, any of that shit. Okay?"

Otabek's face eased a little, unless it was just some bullshit quirk of Skype. "Okay," he said. "You're still coming in April?"

"Yeah," he said. "I wish I was there now."

Otabek smiled at that. "Me too."


	3. Off-Season, Almaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri comes to visit.
> 
> (Please note: the warnings/notes become more relevant in this chapter)

The weather was sunny and warm the day Yuri's plane landed, and for a second, Otabek thought that he wouldn't have to fight anything, that whatever they wanted to do, whatever they wanted to happen, would be as easy as breathing. That maybe this time he could get ahead of himself, stop the tension. Just trust Yuri and trust himself.

Once Yuri had fought his way through the line, Otabek handed him the spare bike helmet and leaned in for a kiss. "How bad was the flight?"

"Okay," he said, sliding his backpack on, and it was too crowded and loud until they got out on the street to talk.

"I would've gotten a car," Otabek said. "You didn't have to pack so light."

Yuri slid his arms around Otabek's waist. "I like this better."

"Okay," he said.

Yuri rested his head against Otabek’s back as he drove, kept a hand on Otabek's waist for most of the three flights up to the apartment. "I missed you," he said. "It was...weird. I never thought I'd have someone I missed this much."

"Yura," he said, because he'd wanted this, and he was a little afraid of it too. "I...I talked to my old therapist. Over the phone. She said it wasn't a real session but--" He stopped with his key in his hand. "I hadn’t thought I needed--I don’t know. I can't promise--"

"Hey," he said. "I don't want a promise. Not--that promise. You want me here, that's all I give a shit about." He leaned into Otabek for a second. "You want me here, right?"

He opened the door and pulled Yuri through, pulled him close. "What do you think?"

"Then shut up about all the other bullshit," Yuri said, and pulled his head down again for a kiss.

"Shit," Otabek said, when they came up for air. "You've grown again."

"Don't fucking remind me," Yuri said. He dropped his backpack on the ground and kicked his shoes off. "I have a list a mile long from my physical therapist. And I'm not supposed to jump beyond a double until I get back. I might as well be strapped to a _board."_

It felt normal, with Yuri complaining, so Otabek kissed him again. Yuri put his hands on Otabek's waist, pulling him closer.

"Shit," Yuri said. "Shit, I missed you. Can we--sit on the couch, make out?"

"Yeah." He'd been planning on showing Yuri around the apartment, but that could wait. It felt too good to have Yuri in his arms again. "You don't--you don't have to ask about that."

"I'll ask if I want to," Yuri said, and pulled him over to the couch. 

He'd spent night after night thinking about kissing Yuri, about Yuri's hands on him. But Yuri was careful, gentle, the opposite of what he so often was. Otabek thought of Yuri delicately scratching his cat under the chin, of the way he'd bandaged Otabek's blisters the last time they'd been together. And then, as he relaxed a little and Yuri slid his hand across Otabek's back, he stopped thinking of any of that at all.

"I really fucking missed you," Yuri said. "It's so stupid. We’re competing. I know that. We can’t hang out all the time and--"

"I missed you too," Otabek said, and pulled at him so Yuri was settled in his lap. "Good?"

"Yeah," he said. "Don't--"

"I'll stop if I need to stop," he said. "Trust me."

"Okay," Yuri said, and leaned down to kiss him again.

Yuri felt good in his arms, in his lap. He smelled like sweat and whatever he'd had to eat on the plane, and tasted kind of sour, and it almost hurt, how good it was. He'd put his hair up in a little ponytail, and he let Otabek pull it out. He loved this about Yuri, the contradiction between his delicate beauty and his anger, the fierce, flexible strength of a warrior. Otabek had missed this, too, missed _him._

"Tell me," Yuri said. "Do you want--"

"This is good," he said. "It's--just, if you trust me--"

"You know I trust you," he said. He put his forehead against Otabek's.

"I'll tell you," he said. "If that's okay. We can--"

"I don't care if we take it slow or whatever," Yuri said. "I--this is good. Being with you. Okay? If all you want to do is make out on the couch this weekend, then we'll make out on the couch."

Otabek pressed his lips to Yuri's again, opening his mouth, and Yuri's fingers brushed against Otabek's hair. He was getting hard, and Yuri could feel it by now. 

Yuri moaned a little into his mouth, and Otabek loved the way his body moved, the way he could feel the muscles in Yuri's back as he shifted his weight. As he pulled Otabek even closer.

"My brother's going to be home soon," Otabek said, between kisses. "We probably--"

"You want to stop?"

"No," Otabek said. "But...probably shouldn't try any more than this."

"Sure," Yuri said, and licked his collarbone through the open collar of his shirt. "And just tell me. If you want me to stop."

"I will," Otabek said. "But I don’t want to stop now." 

Most of the time he was happy to room with his brother, but he’d always been weird about Yuri, whether it was the Russian thing or the skating thing or the younger thing or some other bullshit he wouldn’t tell Otabek. Maybe it was that he was the one who’d been home that summer Otabek came back and stared at the ceiling and tried to pretend nothing bad had happened to him. But Yuri had nothing to do with that. No one he’d ever wanted had had anything to do with that.

“We’ve got time for me to crash for a while, right?” Yuri asked. 

“Yeah,” Otabek said. “Come on, I’ll show you where things are.”

His bedroom door was across from his brother’s. “Sunnat’s in college, so he wanted some space from the rest of the family. My parents are still a little scandalized, but I got so used to living on my own…” He shrugged and opened his own door. “And this is my room.”

He had the shades drawn so the room was dim and intimate, and Yuri pulled Otabek into his arms after the door had closed behind him, kissed him soft and slow and gentle. “Stay with me a little while?”

“As long as you want,” he said. They slid together onto the bed, and he wanted to keep Yuri there in his arms forever. “But if you can’t sleep I’ll take off.”

“I’d rather have you than sleep,” he said, lying on his back, pulling Otabek’s head onto his chest. 

Otabek closed his eyes. “Me too.”

Yuri nuzzled his hair, stroked the back of Otabek’s neck. “Tell me if….”

“You’re fine,” Otabek said. “You’re good. This...I’m glad you’re here.”

“Tell me about your club,” he said. “Tell me what you’re spinning tonight.”

He talked, his voice low, and felt Yuri relax underneath him, his breathing slowing. He pressed a kiss to Yuri’s collarbone and fell silent.

Yuri said, “Thank you,” and they stayed together like that, half-asleep, comfortable. Otabek heard Sunnat venturing into his own room. Maybe he’d like Yuri after this. Maybe--

They woke up an hour later, coming to the surface slowly, shifting in each other’s arms so they’d be face to face, kissing, touching, Otabek’s breath coming faster, Yuri rising against him.

It was good right until Yuri’s hand slid up Otabek’s thigh and he froze again.

“Shit,” Yuri muttered, and then, “I’m sorry, shit--Beka, _Beka--”_

Otabek thought he’d frozen, but at some point he’d moved, sitting up against the headboard, his heart pounding, something angry roaring in his ears. 

“I should have,” Yuri said, from what felt like a mile away. “I--Beka. What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t--”

“It’s okay,” Yuri said. “I’m okay. Just--let me--tell me what you need.”

"I'm supposed to be--" He put his hands over his face. "I'm supposed to be stronger than this."

"Bullshit," Yuri said, and sat next to him, so their shoulders touched.

"Convincing," Otabek said wryly.

"It doesn't have anything to be with being strong," Yuri said. "It's just--shit happens. Sometimes you fall on the ice and you get up and sometimes you twist your fucking ankle. That's all."

"You don't have to do this."

"You keep telling me that." Yuri kicked his ankle. "And I keep telling you to stop fucking telling me what to do."

"I still want you." Otabek hated the way he sounded, miserable, uncertain. "I mean. _Want."_

"Yeah, well, me too," Yuri said. He leaned in a little to Otabek. "I can stop. I'll just--I don't mind jerking off in the bathroom later or whatever."

"I don't want you to have to--"

Yuri shrugged. "It's not like I haven't had to before."

He was breathing again. Yuri felt good again. "If we try again, do you...is it going to be all right? If I--"

Yuri put a hand on his arm. "Beka. Look at me?"

He put his hands down and looked. He'd never known anyone with eyes like Yuri's, fierce and sharp and that strange, perfect blue-green color. 

"If you want to try, I want to try. If it doesn't work, I'm still here. Okay?"

Otabek leaned forward and kissed him. 

Yuri kissed back, pulling him down against the mattress, and Otabek focused on Yuri's leanness, his strength, his smaller hands on Otabek's shoulders and back, pulling him closer, trying to touch all of him at once. They'd kissed enough by now that there was something familiar about it, almost comforting, and Otabek felt his heart beating faster, his cock reacting to Yuri's lean body. He pulled Yuri closer, into his lap, and Yuri kissed the side of his neck. "Okay?"

"Mmm," Otabek said, and found his mouth again, their tongues sliding wet and warm, his hands on Yuri's hips. 

Yuri ground into him, and then stopped, like he was unsure, so Otabek grabbed his ass, pulled at him, and it was good, and he still wanted more, and he was close, so close, to not _thinking_ so much. Otabek found Yuri's fly, started on the buttons, and Yuri moaned.

"Good?" he asked, breaking the kiss. He could feel Yuri through the fabric, and he was so fucking hard. He slid his thumb over the head of Yuri's cock, through his briefs.

"Fuck," Yuri hissed. "Yeah. Good."

He stroked Yuri through the fabric a few more times, and he'd screwed around in the States, when he was telling himself that what happened to him didn't mean anything, that he could do what he wanted, and that the hard knot of fear in his gut would go away if he just--

But this wasn't that. Yuri wasn't--

He focused on what Yuri _was,_ angry and beautiful and strong. The way Yuri smelled. The way he grabbed at Otabek like Otabek was all he wanted. Here in his bed and hard, hard for him, even after how much he'd fucked this up. 

Yuri's cock felt right in his hand, the unfamiliar, soft foreskin sliding against his fingers, Yuri's breath catching. "So good," he said, low, a whisper against Otabek's neck. "So, so good, shit, please--"

"Yura," he said, his breath coming fast, his own cock straining in his jeans. "You can--if you want you can--"

Yuri kissed him, open-mouthed and hungry and hard, and he started fumbling with Otabek's fly, zipper, and then his hand was on Otabek's cock, and Otabek moaned into his mouth, his neck, his soft, soft blond hair, and he was talking, barely aware of what he was saying, but mostly _don't stop, don't stop_ in Kazakh he wasn't sure Yuri understood.

But Yuri didn't stop, not through Otabek's orgasm or the aftershocks, though he moved gentler, his fingers almost tender on Otabek's foreskin. 

"Okay?" Yuri said, and Otabek laughed, because he was flying, finally, and Yuri laughed too, and they held each other and kissed until they were too hungry to kiss any longer.

"You have tissues or--" Yuri waved his hand, slick still, and Otabek found the box of tissues almost under the bed, and they kissed for a while again while Yuri cleaned them both up.

"I want to take you out," he said. "Dinner. Before we--"

"You're not cooking for me?"

"Tomorrow," he said. "Sunnat has homework, and I don't want to bother him too much."

"He doesn't like me," Yuri said.

"He doesn't know you," Otabek said. "We'll be out of his hair tonight. It'll be easier after that."

"He doesn't have to like me, anyway. I don't care what anyone thinks about me but you."

"I want you here," Otabek said.

"That's all I need," Yuri said.


	4. Almaty, the Next Day

He slept longer than he should have the next morning, and by the time he woke up, Yuri was in the shower. Sunnat was sitting at the kitchen table, squinting at his laptop, his face shadowed by anger.

"Morning," Otabek said, feeling the tension, hoping it wasn't about what he thought it was.

"You came back late," Sunnat said, into the screen.

"I was working," he said. "And we danced for a while after that. Have you had breakfast?"

Sunnat didn't turn his head. "I'm not hungry."

Otabek had really been hoping that Sunnat would swallow down his objections long enough to eat breakfast, at least. To talk to Yuri and see who he really was. 

It wasn't looking likely.

"Would you like to tell me what your problem is with him? Or would you rather sulk?"

Sunnat looked up. "Look, I don't have to like any random Russian you decide to take home," he said. "Did you forget he was a competitor? You're supposed to be winning gold medals, not dragging your boyfriend home."

The force in his voice took Otabek aback. Where had-- "Why are you so _angry_ about this?"

"You think I don't remember what you were like when you came back from Colorado?"

_Fuck._ Otabek’s mind teetered between frustration and anger and chose the latter. "Are you--are you _serious?"_

"Three months. You sat in your room and you didn't talk to anybody. And then you left again, and you were so different when you came back--"

"That's not--you thought that was _skating?"_

"You've given your whole life to this," he said. "How can you just throw it away for him?"

"What did our parents tell you about Colorado?"

"They didn't need to tell me! You think I didn't _know?"_

"I think you didn't understand," Otabek said, as carefully as he could.

"I understand that skating took almost everything you are. And you still went back. And now you want to throw all that away!? For some Russian who's younger than _me_ and--"

_"Don't,"_ Otabek said, because apparently that was where his limit was.

"I read," Sunnat said. "You think I don’t follow the sport? I know he comes from nothing. He's taking advantage of you, and--"

"You need to stop," Otabek said, feeling the anger grow, and he was mentally wondering how to explain kicking his younger brother out to his parents, and how had this skidded so quickly out of his control?

"I'm stopping," he said, and grabbed his laptop. "I'm going back home. I'll come back when _he's_ gone."

"Fine," Otabek spat. "Tell them--tell them what you told me. See what they tell you." He didn't want to talk about this again. Didn't want to think about it ever again. His parents could deal with this. They would. He could--

Shit. What the hell was he going to tell Yuri?

Sunnat had thrown his laptop in his messenger bag and was already out the door, slamming it hard enough the frame rattled, and Otabek closed his eyes, breathed. He sent Mama a text, which didn't begin to explain things, but at least would give his mothers something resembling a heads-up.

He'd known Sunnat had never realized how much skating meant to him. He hadn't realized how much else had been lost, how much of his relationship with his own brother had years of misunderstandings built in.

He sighed.

"So," Yuri said, very quietly. "I turned the shower off, like. A while ago?"

"So you heard the whole thing."

"Up to you."

Otabek laughed, sort of. "At least I don’t have to make any excuses, I guess."

Yuri walked over and put his arms around Otabek. "Yeah. You want to come to bed? Just make out? We don't have to--"

_I want you in me,_ Otabek thought, savage, greedy. Knowing he'd fuck it up if they tried now didn't change the hunger. "I'm--not now. Okay?"

"Okay," Yuri said, and slid a hand over his arm. "We could run?"

"You just got out of the shower."

Yuri shrugged. "I can't jump, I might as well run. We could go to that cafe you like, get breakfast on the way back."

"Okay," Otabek said. "Let me just throw some shorts on."

"Can I watch?"

"Yeah, sure," Otabek said, and he wasn't sure if Yuri had said it just to cheer him up, but it worked, anyway. He stripped down slow, glancing back to make sure Yuri was watching (he was, with one hand down his athletic pants, which, okay, that was flattering), and stroked himself half-hard before getting his shorts on. He walked over to Yuri when he was dressed and kissed him, long, slow.

"Better?" Yuri asked, his arms twined around Otabek's neck.

"Better," he said. "But he still had no right to--"

"It's okay," he said. "I told you. I don't care what he thinks about me. And I don't care if you kick my ass, either."

Otabek smiled in spite of himself. "Yes you do."

"Not like that," he said. '"If you held back on me, I wouldn't forgive you."

The good side of his brother taking off was that they knew they were alone when they got back to the apartment, so Otabek could push Yuri up against the door and peel his clothes off slowly, push his thumbs against Yuri's nipples, pull his hair out of its ponytail and rut against him.

"You want me to blow you?" Yuri offered, and Otabek shook his head, pushed the coolness that had hit his spine aside. _No_ was enough for Yuri. He'd proven that, over and over again.

That was enough to get him back on track, pulling Yuri's shirt over his head. Yuri reached for the hem of Otabek's t-shirt and made a little huff of satisfaction as he got his hands on Otabek's back, trailing over the bumps of his spine, leaning down and sucking at Otabek's neck. "You're so fucking hot," Yuri said, and Otabek tipped Yuri's chin up to kiss him again. 

They landed on the couch, Yuri straddling Otabek, sliding their cocks together hot and hard and desperate. Yuri kissed and kissed him, and Otabek wanted the moment to last for the rest of eternity.

"You're such a sap," Yuri said, licking come off his fingers afterward. "Shit, I really do need another shower."

Practice went well enough, aside from Yuri's near-constant complaints about the restrictions on his jumping, and Otabek's continued struggle with the quad loop. 

"For fuck's sake, Altin, you're not going to win any medals with that form."

"I _know,"_ Otabek snapped. "Why don't you practice your _doubles?"_

He went back to work, ignoring the sound that was probably Yuri kicking something over. 

After lunch, they crashed on the couch for a while. Otabek pulled out a track he'd been struggling with and Yuri lost himself in some game on his phone.

When he pulled his headphones off, Yuri's eyes were still glued to his screen.

"It's still okay?"

"What?" Yuri said, looking up.

"That...that we're just. Doing what we're doing."

"Yeah," Yuri said, once he’d caught up mentally to what Otabek had been saying. "It's okay. I mean, I'm still getting laid."

Otabek rolled his eyes, and Yuri laughed, low and satisfied.

"Seriously," he said. "You remember when Potya got sick?"

Of course he remembered. Yuri had been close to sick himself, and only a week away from Russian Nationals. He nodded. "I almost fell asleep on you on Skype."

"You almost fell asleep because you were staying up because you knew how freaked out I was. You didn't go anywhere. And I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He put a hand on Otabek's leg. "Okay?"

"Okay," he said, because Yuri clearly needed to hear it.

"Good." Yuri got up and kissed Otabek's forehead. "Now do you have any food in this place? I'm starving."

Yuri insisted on cooking, brushing him off so he could focus on chopping and frying, though he let Otabek steal a few soft kisses at the counter. They ate on the couch, Yuri's feet settled in Otabek's lap, and watched _Night Watch_ together, which somehow Yuri had never seen.

Eventually they put their empty plates on the floor and Otabek rubbed Yuri's feet as the movie ended.

Yuri sighed a little and wiggled his toes in Otabek's hands. "Thanks," he said.

"You made dinner." He passed his thumb across Yuri's arch, and felt Yuri shiver. 

"Wanted to," he said. "Shit, you want to--"

"Yes," Otabek said, and held out his hand so Yuri could pull himself up, into Otabek's arms.

Mama emailed in the morning. _We talked with your brother. We didn't tell him anything you wouldn't want him to, but I think he understands a little better what had happened._

_I'm sorry that we didn't realize at the time; I think we were so focused on you that we didn't notice what your brother was seeing. Kids are always more observant than we give them credit for, I think._

_I think for the short term he's decided to be angry with us, rather than with you and your friend, but he’s going to stay here another day so you can have some privacy._

_Let us know if you need anything. We're still planning on having you over tonight, but if you'd rather not come, we'll understand._

“You still want to deal with the rest of my family?” he asked Yuri.

“Sure,” Yuri said. “You have, like, another brother and sister anyway, right? They can’t all hate me.”

“They might.” His parents would have attempted damage control, but Sunnat was persuasive. And he’d been angry as hell.

“Okay, maybe they do. At least I’ll have tried, right?”

“Right,” Otabek conceded.


	5. Off-Season, Almaty, the Altin-Chorieva family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family dinner.

Either Otabek’s family was the most accomplished group of liars he’d ever met, or they _loved_ him. Either way, Yuri was counting it as a win.

Gulisa (Mom #1 in Yuri's mind, as he'd met her first) had chased him out of the kitchen with a spatula, and Damira had pinned him down to talk about music instead, because _Beka never likes my suggestions, and they’re really good,_ and then Berik had insisted that both he and Otabek play with his toy trains. Sunnat lurked around, glowering at everything and everyone, and Yuri choked down his first instinct to glare and gave him a bright, pleasant smile instead. ( _Thanks, Katsudon._ )

He sat by Ulbolsin (Mom #2) at dinner, which was a huge mistake, because she worked at a fucking _investment bank_ and had Opinions on what skaters should do to properly invest their winnings and sponsorship money. Otabek, apparently, had a trust that he couldn’t touch until he was twenty-five, and had had to beg his mothers for motorcycle lessons. “You have to be careful,” she said, sagely. “Too many professional athletes end their careers with chronic pain and empty bank accounts. You can’t always prevent the former, but--”

Otabek sighed, dramatically, and Yuri wondered how many times the Altin-Chorieva family had had this discussion. “Berik could probably start his banking career tomorrow, and he’s ten.”

“Well, Yuri’s never visited before, _Zhanym.”_ Yuri had heard that one before, and made a mental note to figure out what it meant.

“Once they came to Skate America to cheer me on, and she practically taught a class,” Otabek said. 

“Your friend Leo was very grateful,” she said, archly.

“None of us want to end up broke,” Yuri said, because it was true, and she smiled at him, pleased and just a little smug.

Sunnat snorted, and Otabek glared and maybe kicked him under the table. Yuri pretended he didn't notice, because he was the boyfriend and that meant grabbing every inch of moral high ground he could find.

Ulbolsin noticed, and her eyebrows shot up. Sunnat was clearly on some kind of Mama Probation. Good. Sunnat could hate Yuri all he wanted to, but he had no right to take it out on Otabek. And Yuri wasn't--shit, whatever Sunnat thought he was. He'd paid his own bills for most of his life. Spent half of his life paying other people's bills. Sunnat didn't have any idea how hard he worked, or how hard his own brother had worked or for how long. 

Fuck. He was thinking _you don't know my life_ to his boyfriend's shitty brother. Time to let that shit go. "Beka says Berik skates too," he said, instead. "Is he going to compete?"

"I don't think so," Gulisa said. "He's having fun but he's not as...driven."

"I'm going to be a train engineer," Berik said. "Skating's fun but I don't want to wear the costumes like Beka does. He looks silly."

Yuri tried to hide his smile, but Otabek kicked his ankle, so he must have caught it.

"I've worn the traditional costumes of our country," Otabek chided.

"Too many sequins."

"There's never _enough_ sequins," Damira said. "Except that velvet suit your coach wouldn't let you wear. That had...too many sequins."

"Too many," Gulisa agreed, like she'd seen some shit. Yuri made a mental note to ask Otabek about it later. "But I do like the sequins. They make things stand out better in the spotlight."

"That's what they're supposed to do," Otabek said, and it sounded like he'd had this argument multiple times with multiple people, all of whom were sitting at the kitchen table. "I liked the velvet suit."

"We know," his mothers and sister said, simultaneously, and Yuri had to bite back a laugh. 

"Have you decided on a costume yet for this year?"

Otabek shook his head. "Need to settle on the music, first. I know some people do it when they choose a theme, but that never works for me."

"He hasn't even told us his theme yet," Gulisa confided. "Normally it's all settled by now."

"I know, I know," he said. "It's close. It...needs to say exactly what I want it to say." Shit, Yuri loved it when Otabek set his jaw like that. Determined. Sexy.

"What's yours, Yuri?" Sunnat asked. 

Yuri wondered if telling him would get his theme leaked all over the forums in the next two hours. Well, fuck it, he didn't care. "Heroes," he said. "For Moscow, where I come from--because it's a Hero City--and for my grandfather. He took care of me when--when I didn't have anyone else. And he was a safety officer for the Kalinin power plant until he retired. He's brave. And he taught me to cook." Sunnat could say he came from nothing all he wanted to. It wasn't true. Not even close. I know you wouldn't let me in the kitchen tonight, but--"

"We know," Gulisa said. "Beka has told us all about your cooking."

Yuri turned on him. "You didn't want me to cook last night!"

"You're a guest!"

"I like cooking," he grumbled. 

“Next time,” Gulisa said.


	6. Off-Season, Almaty, back at Otabek's apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One short chapter before Yuri goes back to Russia.

"Have you really not decided on a theme?" Otabek was always so determined. It wasn't like him to be the last one out.

He sat down heavily on the couch and pulled Yuri into his lap, his face resting against the back of Yuri's neck. "I know what I want to say and what I want to be skating about. But I have to say it the right way, and I haven't figured that out yet. You've got a lot of things you want to talk about, with your theme. About home and about your grandfather. It's like that, only...I don’t know how to focus it, I guess. I want to get it right in my own head first."

"Makes sense," Yuri said.

Otabek pressed his lips to Yuri's skin. "Will you skate a tribute to the Kalinin power plant?"

"Funny, asshole. But no. I...I want my free skate to be about. About--" He hadn't told Otabek much of this before. He'd mostly talked around it. "After Mama left, the last time. She'd promised--" She'd promised a lot of bullshit. "She promised that we'd go away for a week, fishing. I should've known. She didn't even know how to fish."

"And your grandfather took you instead."

"He rented a place. Took time off. I don't know how much it cost, because he never--if we were short, I didn't know it. And then I started skating, and I started winning, and it got easier." Otabek's thumb was stroking slow, down the bumps of his spine. It felt weirdly good. "But he--maybe I wouldn't have made it, you know? Maybe we would've kept...he gave up a lot. For me."

"I think it's a good theme," he said. "You don't have to tell anyone all that, but you can use it."

"Exactly," he said. "That's why I want the Stones song. He used to buy bootleg albums, you know. In secret. Lilia wants something classical, but she always wants something classical."

"You could do a cover."

"Fuck covers. All everyone does is those slowed-down bullshit covers. If I want to hear a children's choir sing something I'd--fuck. I don't know. Go to a kid’s concert? Watch a bunch of movie trailers?" He felt Otabek chuckling below him. "What would you do?"

"Complain. And probably fight. Does it have to be the Rolling Stones? Maybe you could pick another song he liked?"

"I remember him humming this one," he said. "I want it to be this one."

"Then you have to fight," he said. "And you'll win."

Yuri closed his eyes, and thought: _I love you._

And then thought: _Oh, shit. I really do._


	7. Off-Season, St. Petersburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek's turn to visit.

St. Petersburg was pretty, and Yuri was more beautiful than ever. "Lilia says you can stay with us, and Victor and the pig have a spare room if you're afraid it's gonna be weird."

"Why would it be weird?"

"Lilia," he said. "I mean, she _says_ you're welcome."

"It'll be fine," he said, hoping it would be.

They dropped his bags at the apartment--it was lovely, if a bit staid and extremely Russian--and Yuri said, "Look, if anything's wrong, you can--you'll tell me, right?"

"You don't have to act like I'm fragile," he said, more sharply than he should have.

"I--you're not," Yuri said. "Shit, I just don't want to _hurt_ you."

"I'll tell you," Otabek said. "I trust you. Can you trust me?"

"It's not--I just don't want to know if something was fucked up _after."_

"I don't like _thinking_ about it," Otabek said. "It's like--giving him space in my head. I don't want him there."

"That makes sense," Yuri said, and Otabek could hear how carefully he was choosing his words, how much he didn't want to push too hard. "But if you want to. Or need to, or whatever. I don't mind. I just...want you to tell me. Shit. If you never want to say anything about it again. Ever. That's okay. It's not--it's about you, not me."

"I kind of made it about you," he said.

Yuri shook his head. "If anybody did that it was me, come on." He held out a hand to Otabek. "Come on, we'll be late."

Otabek took his hand and pulled him in for a kiss. 

"Not helping with the late thing," Yuri teased, but kissed him back, his hands sliding up Otabek's back. 

"Like you care."

"I do," he said, kissing Otabek again. "But shit. When do I get you here? Fucking never--"

They did make it to the rink on time, a little mussed and out of breath, but Victor and Katsuki were having some kind of yelling match so no one noticed. As far as Otabek could tell, they were perfectly in harmony with each other until the switch flipped and they weren't. It seemed to work for them--Yuri had told him normally they came back to the rink the next morning like nothing had happened, except for one time when Victor was notably sore from the makeup sex and Mila gave him merry hell about it.

"I've got some other ideas for my music," Yuri told Yakov, and Yakov glared at Otabek, but it was all Yuri, so Otabek ignored it and went to warm up. Otabek normally went classical anyway; no one could pin Yuri's wildest experiments on him. Sure, he’d sent Yuri some music after Yuri had conceded to dropping the Rolling Stones down to his EX, but anyone who thought they could predict what Yuri would actually want to skate to was either stupid or insane. Otabek just shared stuff with Yuri he thought Yuri would like. He was right more often than not, and okay, he was kind of proud about that. Yuri wasn't always easy to please.

Lilia was watching him rinkside--it took him a second, but no, she was watching him. Just him. That was...intimidating? Intimidating seemed like the right word.

She came up to him when he was getting water. "You are much improved this season," she said.

"Oh. Well. Thank you."

"You've been good influences on one another. It's not always that things work out that way. But good when they do."

Otabek waited. There was more, and he knew it.

"You are both young, I know. I married Yakov when we were...quite young. It is not easy, to be in love and be so young. It seems like a very long time ago, now."

"We--" They'd never talked about love. Or marriage. Anything like that. It was enough to be together. "I don't know what--if--we'll--"

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "I know, and I am not--I am not telling you this because I think you are going to do something. Or not do something. I am telling you this because I do not regret that time, or those years. And I do not think you will either. Even if it ends."

He wasn't sure exactly what the gift was she was giving him, but he recognized it as a gift. Recognized that she...approved? "Thank you," he said. "I think I agree."

Victor and Yuuri had insisted on having them for dinner, and the pig was a decent cook, so Yuri had decided it would be better to agree and get it over with. Victor could put the charm on when he had to, and he had it turned up all the way. With the whole "life and love" crap he'd been on for the past couple years, Yuri knew he'd at least not fuck anything up if he could help it.

Katsudon made something he said his dad liked to make for him when he was at home, basically just steamed vegetables and noodles but with a light, savory sauce that made it less like eating as obligation. "We won't keep you too long," he said. "I know the flights can be rough."

"You'll want to get to bed," Victor said brightly. Yuri went to kick him under the table, but then Victor made a little squeak, which meant Katsudon had gotten to him first.

He wasn't sure he was ready to go back, though. He didn't want to fuck up with Otabek. They didn't have enough time to fuck up. There was never going to be enough time.

Otabek had taken his hand under the table. "We're all right," he said. "It's always easier to go west. It's when I get back home that it'll hit me."

"He never believes me when I tell him that," Yuuri said. "I think he's immune."

"Is that an old Japanese term that means 'oblivious?'" Yuri asked, and Otabek kicked _him_ under the table, which, fuck, Otabek didn't realize how fucking _annoying_ Victor could be as a rinkmate, so Yuri kicked back, and Katsudon snickered into his wine, and Yuri sulked for a little while, but not too long, because having Otabek around meant he couldn't be unhappy for long.

Lilia had left a note on the kitchen table in her perfect old-lady handwriting: _gone to the opera, staying with Anna tonight. Don’t be up too late._

Lilia was the fucking _best._

Otabek looked at it like it was a singing frog. "I can't believe she just...gave us a free pass."

"She likes you," Yuri said.

"Okay," he said, putting the note down like it might dissolve at any moment. "I--can we--" Yuri expected _just cuddle or something_ or maybe _watch TV for a while,_ but what happened was that Otabek grabbed him, pulled him close, slid his hands down Yuri's waist to cup his ass. 

"Yeah," Yuri said. "What--what do you want?"

"Fuck me?"

Holy _shit._ "You're--you sure?"

Otabek nodded, kissed him, hard, their teeth almost knocking together, his hands squeezing on Yuri's ass, and it felt so good, and Yuri hadn't thought Otabek would _ever_ want to fuck at all, and it'd been okay, being with Otabek had been enough, but...he'd said _fuck me,_ and they stumbled toward Yuri's bed, because Lilia might have given them the house to themselves, but that didn't mean they were free to fuck on her nice leather couch. The lube was in his room anyway. If Lilia had any, Yuri did _not_ want to know.

They lost half their clothes on the way in there, and pulled the rest off on the bed, Otabek on the mattress as Yuri stroked his shoulders and chest, Otabek’s mouth half-open, wet.

_Mine,_ he thought, and his cock twitched.

“You’re _sure,”_ he said, again, almost yanking the nightstand drawer onto the ground as he fumbled for the lube.

_”Please,”_ Otabek said, his legs open wide.

Yuri tried to pretend his fingers were steady as he coated them, thick, and said, “Don’t let me hurt you.”

Otabek shook his head and stroked Yuri’s hip, soft, tender. “I won’t,” he said, his eyes on Yuri. “Don’t stop.”

Yuri slid a finger in and willed himself not to scream.

Otabek was so _hot,_ and Yuri's cock was _throbbing,_ and it was too much, he tried to think of something, anything else, but he couldn't take his eyes away from Otabek, couldn't stop thinking of how close he was, how close _they_ were, finally, _finally--_

He tried to stop himself, but he was already too far gone, coming across the sheets, Otabek's stomach, fucking _everywhere,_ with Otabek stroking his sides.

"Shit," Yuri said, "I didn't mean to--"

"It's okay," Otabek said, and guided Yuri's finger back in instead.

Yuri hadn't lied. He wasn't a virgin. But he'd decided pretty early on he could settle for a little fooling around to take the edge off, that anything else tended to end in feelings and talking and a bunch of bullshit he never really cared about unless he was with Otabek.

But he did care with Otabek, and he cared too fucking much, he wanted to get this right, he wanted it to be good, the best that Otabek had ever had, good enough that Otabek would forget McManus and anyone who'd ever made him feel anything less than fucking perfect. "Okay?"

"Good," Otabek said, his eyes all but rolling back in his head. "Really. Really good."

Yuri shifted his finger, and Otabek made a tiny, eager noise in the back of his throat. _Oh,_ that was good. He wanted to laugh. He'd never made anyone make noises like that. Otabek's cock twitched as Yuri pressed in further, felt the tight heat around his finger. Fuck, he'd get his _cock_ inside Otabek, how was he even going to stand it?

"I've never," he said. "Never--you have to tell me."

"'s good," Otabek said, his eyes going wide and unfocused. "Don't stop."

"Okay," he said, and didn't, and shit, he was getting hard again, because this was the hottest fucking thing that had ever happened to him in his life. Otabek was spreading his legs further apart, and still moaning, hot and low, and Yuri worked his finger out, in, out, and he was melting, and Yuri was the one who was _making_ him melt.

Fuck. _Fuck._ He'd never felt this _powerful_ before. Never been needed like this.

"You want--another? Should I?"

Otabek nodded furiously.

Yuri hoped like hell he wasn't going to scratch Otabek, but he pushed another finger in, and _fuck_ Otabek was tight and hot and all the crap they talked about in porn. And better yet, Otabek was moving against him, trying to push him further in, and Yuri had never had anyone want him like this.

Yuri never wanted anyone else to want him like this.

"I'm not gonna last if I fuck you," he said. "I'm not fucking--Beka--"

"It's okay," he said. "You...feels good. Don't--just don't stop."

Shit, he was hard. So fucking hard. "No," he said. He wanted to suck Otabek's dick, but he remembered that, too fucking well: _Not your mouth._ Maybe someday. Not today. Not now.

Like it wasn't enough to have Otabek hot and hard and naked. Shit. 

“Okay,” he said. “You--I’m sorry if I don’t last. I--”

“Just--” Otabek said, and licked his lips. “Yura. Please.”

Yuri pulled his fingers out, feeling Otabek clench around him as he went, and slicked his cock. “I don’t--are we okay? Without--”

Otabek nodded. “If you are. I--I got tested. I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he said, and he hoped he wasn’t fucking shaking when he slid in, but he probably was, and Otabek grabbed onto his hips hard enough to bruise, and it was good, fuck, it was good.


	8. St. Petersburg, the next morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's past isn't all sunshine and roses, either, of course.

They slept in in the morning, tangled together, sore and satisfied, with Potya stretched out at the foot of the bed. Otabek woke up first and ignored his bladder for almost twenty minutes so he could watch Yuri breathe. Eventually his stomach asserted itself too, and he slowly, carefully extricated himself from Yuri’s arms, threw some clothes on, fed a now demanding Potya, and started on a pair of omelettes with mushrooms and wild leeks from the fridge. 

Yuri was up by the time they were ready, and it felt a little like they were pretending to be adults, but it also felt a little like they actually were, drinking their coffee and eating in comfortable near-silence at Lilia’s kitchen table.

“I’ll make the bed,” Otabek said, “if you get the dishes.”

Yuri nodded, gesturing at the still half-full cup of coffee he was nursing.

Otabek was trying to remember if he should be looking for one dirty washcloth or two when he heard a knock at the door. He assumed it was Lilia, but then the woman’s voice he heard was unfamiliar. 

When Yuri spoke it was unfamiliar too, clipped and angry. "I'm eighteen now,” Otabek caught, now he was listening more carefully. “You remember, my birthday's in March. Right after I won my first gold at Worlds. Maybe you were too busy getting drunk to notice."

Otabek didn't hear what the woman said in reply. It probably didn't matter.

"This isn't your place," Yuri said. "Go home. Or crawl back under your rock. Whatever. Lilia will call the cops. I'm giving you a chance to leave with some dignity." 

She said something more, and Otabek heard the door slam. Potya darted from his previous hiding place and hid under the bed.

Yuri was unsteady when he came back into his room, and Otabek held him, as Yuri snarled, "I'm fine.”

"Let me do this," he said, when Yuri was calm enough to listen, and Yuri burrowed deeper into his arms. He talked, because at least he could do that, calling him whatever felt right. _It’s all right. You’re all right. You’re here. I’m here. Darling, my soul, my love, my warrior, I’m here._

Yuri remained silent, but he held on to Otabek, his face buried in Otabek's neck. Otabek stroked his back after a while, after he'd run out of words.

"Shit," he said. "She hasn't...hasn't pulled that in a while. I thought. Thought it was over."

_It's never over,_ Otabek thought, darkly, but he couldn't voice that to Yuri. Not now. Yuri probably already knew, anyway. 

Mama had asked about Yuri's family. He'd told as much truth as he knew and had kept his suspicions to himself. He hadn't wanted to find out like this. He hadn't wanted any of what he'd feared to be true. 

He kissed Yuri's hair. "Tell me what you need," he said. Yuri had done that for him often enough.

"I'll be okay," he said. "Just...just don't move and don't say anything."

Otabek nodded.

Yuri didn't cry, but his breath was still unsteady, and it took a while before his heart wasn't beating like a bird’s fluttering wings under Otabek's hand. "Okay," he said, straightening up a little. "I'm--I'm okay."

"All right," Otabek said, and leaned in to kiss his temple.

Yuri blinked at him. "Did you just call me your soul, Altin?"

"Yeah," he said. "Who taught you Kazakh?"

"Your little sister gave me some tips. She said I should surprise you when you came to visit."

_That little sneak,_ he thought, but he asked, "What else did she tell you?"

_"Thank you, please. You're very handsome,_ she made me practice that." He stepped back a little. " _Your sister is very smart._ My pronunciation is shit, though."

"It's okay," he said. His mouth was dry. "She's a tough grader."

"She taught me--" He shook his head. _”Thank you,"_ he said, again, and then, “Shit. You know, right? _I love you."_

_You can't,_ he thought, and _what did she tell you that meant?,_ but everything in Yuri's face said he knew exactly what it meant, exactly what he--

"Really?" he said.

"Yes, you idiot," he said. "Shit, I love you _so much."_ And he was buried in Otabek's shoulder again, even though he was kind of too tall to do that now, and Otabek stroked his back and pressed his lips into Yuri's hair again. "Fuck, I wanted to do--wanted to make you dinner or something. Light candles or some shit. Something special. Tell you--"

"It's okay," Otabek said. "It's all okay. I love you too. Fuck. So much. I don't--I don't care about anything but--but this. You." He swallowed. "You and skating."

Yuri went to laugh, and if there were tears in it, neither of them would admit it. "Same here," he said. "And Grandpa, I guess."

"The rest of my family. Except maybe Sunnat."

"You're just mad at him," Yuri said, relaxing a little further. "You still love him."

"Yeah," Otabek said. He just wanted to punch him more often than not lately. "And Yakov. You love Yakov. And Lilia."

"If everything broke tomorrow," Yuri said. "If I lost it all. If I still had you...I'd be okay."

"Don't talk like that," he said.

"I love you," he said. "Fuck, I love you."

"You can say _that,"_ he said, and Yuri laughed in his arms, and they were both more or less calm by then. Yuri wiped his face, and Otabek went back to making the bed. 

Lilia came up a little later, her face set like a warrior's. "I have told her," she said, without preamble, "that next time the police will come." She held up a finger before Yuri could speak. "This is my apartment. I will not have this." 

Yuri shifted next to Otabek from his place on the couch, clearly thinking about arguing and weighing the potential costs. Otabek took his hand, and Yuri gripped his fingers tight. "She's--"

"If you would like to see her," she said, "you can tell me. And you can do it on your own terms. Not hers." She walked over to the couch, and brushed his hair affectionately from his face. "I will not make you reject her. But I will keep my rules, in my own home."

"I know," he said, and Otabek felt the fight drain out of him, at least for now. 

"Should you call your grandfather?"

"Probably," he said. "But--not now. Later."

"All right," she said. "Ask him if he would like me to send some more fudge when you do." She swept out of the room.

"Fudge?"

"She says it's soothing to make, and neither of us can eat much, because I have to skate, and she's Lilia." He shrugged. "So she likes sending it to Grandpa. She even sent some to the Katsukis once." 

"That's sweet."

"Not too sweet, she refuses to give any to Yakov still. Even when he was living here."

Otabek really did find himself liking Lilia. And increasingly relieved about her approval; she wouldn't have kept Yuri from seeing him, but her disapproval clearly wouldn't be subtle.

That night, when she made fudge, she gave him an extra piece.


	9. Skate America, Kent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up with old friends.

Yuri wasn’t assigned to Skate America, but Leo and Phichit were, and Leo all but tackled him when he got to the hotel. “Otabek! Did you see?”

Otabek knew Leo meant the Insta post his coach had put up--Leo finally nailing a quad sal. “It looked really good,” he said, hugging Leo back. “How’s your consistency?”

“Getting better. Might not happen here, but it’ll be down by 4CC for sure.”

“You’re going to be dangerous.”

Leo grinned. “That’s the plan.” He looked happy, confident. “How’re you?”

“Good,” he said.

“You haven’t put up any previews,” Leo said. “What’re you holding back on us?”

“No new jumps,” he said. “It’s not very exciting.” He was skating better than he ever had, but everyone would see that for themselves. Of course, Leo and Phichit and Joubert were too. Some of the other skaters might be at the end of their careers, but the four of them had years left, and it showed.

Leo kept his arm around Otabek’s shoulder. “I'll believe that when I see it. I'm happy to be skating against you, though. Our themes even kind of match." Leo's was _Perseverance,_ and Otabek had finally settled on _Meeting the Challenge._ “Feels a little like the old days,” he said, steering him toward the elevators. “What floor are you on?”

“Sixteenth.”

“I’m on the eighteenth, we’re practically neighbors. I’ll ride up with you.”

“I kind of had a favor to ask,” Leo confessed, as the elevator coughed to life.

“What?” Leo didn’t ask for favors very often. He was usually the one giving an extra hand, tracking something (or someone) down no one else could find, giving giant smiles of encouragement.

“I’m--I know it’s stupid to be nervous about the quad, but I am,” he said. “And when we were kids, sometimes--”

“I’ll stay with you,” he said, without hesitating.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “And I know--it seems like you’re--I don’t want to screw anything up with Plisetsky. I mean, it’s two beds, but--”

“He’ll be fine,” Otabek said, hoping he wasn’t a liar. “I’ll text him, okay?”

“Thanks,” Leo said. “I--thanks a lot.”

For a while, Leo had been the only skater who knew--not speculated, _knew_ \--about McManus. He’d been the one to sent him funny animal videos on trial days, who distracted him with questions about Russian and Kazakh music when he started to go too far into his own head. Otabek could never pay back what he owed him.

He didn’t tell Yuri any of that, but he didn’t need to. _Just tell him it won’t make a difference when you kick his ass._

_Got it._

_And he better be ready for me to beat him at the Final._

“I really--thank you,” Leo said, much later, before he turned off the light. “I owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Things--it’s okay, with Yuri?”

“It’s good,” Otabek said.

“Good.”


	10. The rest of the season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything else.

Leo made the Final with a gold and silver, Otabek a gold and bronze.

Yuri didn’t.

_I’ll be done with this fucking growth spurt by Worlds, and then I’m coming for all of you. You better win for me._

That meant beating Leo, JJ, Phichit, Katsuki and Joubert.

 _I’ll do it,_ he sent back.

In the end, he took silver by a couple of points, just under Katsuki and above a beaming Leo, who in turn was only a whisker above Phichit. His phone was full of congratulations, but there was only one text from Yuri. _I’m expecting gold at 4CC._

_Think you’ll be able to limp onto the podium by then?_

_How else will I beat you all at Worlds?_

After the banquet, as he was undressing for bed, Yuri asked for a picture. Otabek found himself crashing into another wall. _What kind of picture?_

Yuri took too long to answer. _Whatever you want to send._

He took too long to send back a picture, too, but in the end took one in the bathroom mirror, shirtless with his medal on. Waist-up.

Yuri's next text came through as the picture sent. _I mean it, Altin, next time it’s gold._

Ten seconds later: _You look so good. I miss you so fucking much._

_Me too._

It was okay. They were okay.

Otabek went to bed.

Before 4CC came Russian nationals, Yuri clawing his way to silver and Victor Nikiforov managing bronze, despite age and injury. Katsuki fell, badly, in warmups at 4CC, so the podium felt off, injury robbing Leo’s triumphant gold and Phichit’s silver of some of their gleam. _Bronze, Altin, really?_

 _Next time,_ Otabek said. _Worry about Nikiforov._

_He’s easy._

_I miss you._

_Me too._

No one seemed more surprised than Emil Nekola at his Euros gold, but he’d skated impeccably, and Yuri (silver) and Victor (hanging onto bonze by his fingernails) were finally looking consistent again. Worlds would be tough, though Otabek, watching at home on a stream that worked most of the time, wouldn’t really want it any other way.

Guang-Hong’s knee had kept him out for most of the season, but he came to cheer on Leo and the rest of his friends, and he said his prospects looked good for next year. “You’ll all have to watch out,” he said.

“I’ll be past this fucking growth spurt then,” Yuri grumbled. “Don’t hold your breath.”

The four of them went swimming before the competition and didn’t talk about Yuuri Katsuki, fully recovered and skating better than ever, or Emil or Victor or Joubert or Phichit. Mostly they talked about music, and movies, and video games, and how impossible it was to make a coach happy when they wanted you to improve every single time you went out. At night Yuri slept in Otabek’s bed and they whispered in the dark what they never said in texts or email, called each other names, said _I love you_ in all the languages they knew.

In the end, Otabek was clutching his third Worlds medal, first gold, as if it was something he’d hallucinated, and Katsuki threw an arm around his waist to congratulate him, clinking his silver against Otabek’s medal like they were champagne glasses. Leo and Yuri were a fraction of a point apart, but it was Leo on the podium, and Otabek swore he could hear Guang-Hong screaming up in the stands.

“You said gold,” he said to Yuri, still reeling.

“I did,” Yuri said, and his arms around Otabek were as sweet as the weight of the medal around his neck.

His family sent congratulations, most of them in the _I knew it would be your year_ vein, and Victor shook his hand and said it had been an honor to skate against him, and the press made some hay out of the Europeans being shut out of the podium.

Sunnat said _Yuri was underscored on that last quad, he should’ve had bronze._

“That’s his idea of an apology,” he told Yuri.

“Good enough,” Yuri said. 

The gala had been nice. He’d ended up drinking in a corner with Victor for a while, Victor audibly mulling over retirement when he wasn’t talking dreamily about choreography, Katsuki checking in once in a while to make sure things didn’t get too maudlin. He’d danced with Leo, and Katsuki, and Yuri, and Guang-Hong, and finally he and Yuri had snuck out early, landing in Otabek’s bed, jerking each other off before drifting to sleep in each other’s arms.

In the morning, he woke to Yuri’s hand in his waistband, Yuri murmuring something half-asleep over his shoulder, everything drowsy and warm and sensual. He shifted his weight back, feeling Yuri already hard against his ass. 

He’d missed Yuri _so much._

He pulled his own shorts down over his ass, found Yuri’s cock, felt Yuri gasp against his skin. “Beka--”

Otabek tightened his grip. 

“You’re--you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “‘S good. Don’t stop.”

“Okay,” Yuri said, and slid his hand down to Otabek’s cock. “When’s your flight?”

“Afternoon,” Otabek said. “Take your time.”

Yuri did.

**Author's Note:**

> No abuse is explicitly described, but you'll probably be able to get a pretty accurate general idea. There's also some description of physical reactions (freezing up, etc) as a result of said abuse.


End file.
